Generation X

Okay, so GenX is a movie store that has every movie ever made contained within its four walls. I returned movies this evening after work and it was there that I experienced a quirky little moment that I feel compelled to share.

A tall, flustered man, wearing a bike helmet, walked into the store and rushed to the counter.

"Have you seen a shoe? A small children's shoe? I'll go look. We were biking, but she doesn't actually have her shoe.... It's just one shoe..."

He ran around the store for a fruitless 45 seconds.
I hid my smile and stifled my giggles.

Just like an Oompa Loompa

When I was biking home from work yesterday, I was enjoying a nice, warm but slightly overcast afternoon. I was biking through the University of Waterloo campus and there were people everywhere, walking, biking, rollerblading, guys, girls and profs with dark hair, light hair, light skin, dark skin, purple skin…

That’s right. Purple skin.

I certainly did a double take.

The person in question was a roller-blader and she looked like a member of the Blue Man group or an 60's Oompa Loompa, except for the fact that she was purple and not bald or in a candy factory. Her arms were bare and purple. Her face and neck were purple. She was wearing shorts, and her legs were purple.

What was the most spectacular about the fact that there was a purple girl walking through campus?

I was the only one who noticed.

I was amazed, no one looked twice. No necks craning, no traffic stopping, no surprised expressions. I felt like I was the only one who thought this was something to make note of – does this kind of thing happen every day? Are people just not observing what is going on around them?

Here’s to you, purple girl.

My new BFF: Blue Demon

What could possibley be the thing that I would be least likely to do on a weekend visit back to Toronto?

Go to a outdoor, international Lucha Libre match on the Toronto Harbourfront you say?

Why, you are correct!

The wikipedia definition of Lucha Libre is as follows:

Spanish for "free wrestling" or free fighting, Lucha Libre is a term used in Mexico, and other Spanish-speaking countries referring to a form of professional wrestling involving varied techniques and moves.

The crowd around the stage was thick with onlookers. People ranged in age from 2 year olds perched on the shoulders of their parents to the elderly - this was something the whole family could watch. We were a wide range of people, but we all shared a common goal - we wanted to be entertained, and entertained we were.

There are no words to really describe what it was like. I'm not going to even try. All I can say is that I'm planning on going again if it is held next year, but I am staking out a better spot.

Fog: Acts like a sedative on the city

There is not a lot of substance in this post, I just really felt as though I had to share how lovely it was to be up at seven in the morning behind Front Street on a monday morning and to see this.

The whole city was covered in a thick grey blanket and the tops of the buildings were completely covered. The streets were just as busy as they always are downtown at that time of day - but it seemed quieter, calmer and safer.

The CN tower is pictured to the left - and you can't even see halfway up it. And it stayed that way for the entire day, and well into the night.

I have refused to go up the CN tower for the year that I have lived here - but looking back, I really should have gone on this day. Now that would have been a unique view of the city.

Morning attack in my neighbourhood

Today my heart stopped.
But only for a moment.
(And not really, let's be serious.)

I had gotten up extra early, as there was a conference downtown that I had to be at for 815. I did my hair, brushed my teeth, chose an outfit and headed out the door

730 in the morning, everything was pretty quiet. Few cars buzzing past, houses still dark and barely stirring. The air was cool and thick.

As I was walking out from my driveway to the bus stop, someone burst out of the house to the left, screaming, certainly out to attack me. I was so frightened that I ducked, covered my head and quickly scurried across the street to safety.

When I was safely away, and I realized I was not actually being pursued, I looked back to see my potential attacker, imagine my surprise to see, standing on the front step, a 70 year old woman in a pink house coat, rollers in her hair with a plastic cover, waving a broom, and telling in a language I don't recognize... At a racoon.

The two were facing off in a battle of wills.

The 70 year old won and she scared me half to death in the process. That racoon didn't have a chance.

A dash of wickedness is good for the soul...

There is a girl on the streetcar that thinks she is all that. And really, who knows. Maybe she is. Bright red stiletto heels, Jackie O-ish sunglasses, skinny jeans and a brown leather jacket that looks like it costs more than my life. She is on her cell phone, and looks disgusted that she has to wait for the street car like the rest of us.

Her fly is down.

I don't think I'll tell her.

Delightful.

A near perfect day.

I'm distilling my fabulous day into a list. This I think will provide a glimpse into what made this day great. I would have a terribly difficult time describing it in any other way.

1. Photography adventure walk
2. Scrabble and lattes outside in the sun
3. Brick buildings & walkways
4. Borrowed Holga camera
5. 35 mm camera
6. Sunny-sunny-sunny weather
7. Ceramic and art stores
8. Good company & conversation
9. Ban on schoolwork for the day
10. Smiles exchanged with strangers
11. Sunburns

Perfection.

photo compliments Katrina Cinelli

How do YOU put your pants on?

The answer, of course, is "one leg at a time." Or rather, that is what I used to think.

Settling in for an evening of school work, I wrangled myself out of my school clothes (which today included some semi-professional dress) and pulled out my pajamas. Though some research shows that you work better the better you dress, I was too tempted by the bright yellow pants and baseball t-shirt. I was so excited to get into comfortable clothes, that maybe I was rushing a little bit? Perhaps I was getting careless? Assuming that this wasn't going to be a trying act?

In goes leg number one.
In goes leg number two...
... Into the same pant leg.

I hop, wriggle and try to catch my balance... Alas! To no avail. I fall face first on the floor, just managing to catch myself before my face made contact on the hardwood.

As long as I can remember, I have managed my entire life without having a problem putting on pants. I guess this ends my record.

AGO AGO AGO AGO AGO AGO

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to have time, the drive, and the company required to head downtown to the AGO on a Saturday afternoon. It was a sunny, brisk (and by brisk I mean freezing) and beautiful day, and since being outdoors was out of he question - the AGO seemed like a perfect plan for the afternoon. Art AND warmth. Perfection.

Now, I could go on and on for hours about how wonderful the new building was, how Daniel scolded me for taking a picture (in hindsight, I really shouldn't have... I'm lucky they didn't catch me and ask me to leave), how I have never had my heart melt everytime I looked at a Harris Group of Seven painting, or how I gawked at the Totem Poles made from golf bags (So cool. Really, check it out). But I'm not going to go on and on about that. I have two, short little stories.

One. Colin Mocherie was in the line in front of us! The last time I saw him was in the Toronto Airport, when I was in grade 11 and headed to Yellowknife for the week. Being keen youth, we attacked him and he graciously took a picture with us. We were starstruck. I'm a fan for life. Turns out he was also on the same flight as we were, and he was sitting in front of me! He was in 1st class and I was in plebian class - and he cranked his seat back allll the way so that it went past the little curtain and his head was pretty much in my lap. I could have pet him. Moral of the story, I saw him, and he was wearing the same red, down coat that he was 7 years ago. Must be a great coat.

Two. There are these super cool curvy stairs that you no doubt have seen pictures of by now. They are as cool as they seem, and so we walked up then to check out another exhibit. We took the same stairs coming back down. The stairs twist and turn in such a way that you don't know if you are going to see anyone until you are almost on top of them. This was a non issue, until we were leaving the Gallery.

Now, I am all for public displays of affection. Go ahead, hold hand. Kiss a cheek. Hug on the street. Move that adjustable armrest at the movie theatre and snuggle. Fine. That is all cool. I have yet to come to terms with the public make-out, however. On the stairs, one such make-out was being performed... Maybe it was performance art. Maybe it was just innappropriate. The stairs were not wide, and so I though (silly me) that they would stop once realizing that people were going to walk by. Nope.

Next time, I may take the elevator.

How many rich women can you fit in a Starbucks bathroom...

It is a Friday night and I am in downtown Toronto. What am I doing here? Am I going to a musical? A movie? Clubbing? A lecture?

Nope.

I am in Starbucks doing schoolwork. That is just how cool I am.

It is a pretty small cafe, with only 3 tables, and I am right by the door, So I can easily see all the people walking in and out of the cafe.

Four women just walked in... They are dressed to the nines, obviously swimming in money, and are being followed by a cloud of booze-smell.

There is one bathroom for everyone... one room, no stalls... They all make a beeline for the bathroom door. One goes in. Another goes in. A third totters in. The fourth stays outside and doesn't order a thing. A few minutes go by, and then she knocks on the door, says: "It's me!" and they let her in. They are all in this very small bathroom for about 5 minutes together.

I would like to state at this point that it is quarter to eight in the evening. Quite early to be going out on the town.

Eventually, they file out of the bathroom, and un-apologetically continue on their drunken trek through the bar district.

I see a lot of weird things here...

Tiny little people

This week is spring break. What that really means is that I can sleep in a little bit, and I can get work done without school getting in the way. I also committed myself to volunteering for three days out of the week, which will get me out of bed and jump-started so I don’t waste it all warm under my covers.

This morning, as I was walking to my volunteer location, I saw something that was so adorable, that it made getting up early totally worth it.

Walking by a school, a little stream of 4-5 year olds waddled out of a building. They were all carrying bags that were about the size of their own bodies, which held helments and skates. They were going to a nearby park for a field trip. There was one little boy couldn’t actually lift his bag, and was dragging it down the stairs as he plodded along.

This made my morning.

Deep Freeze to a Thaw

Over the past 5 days, Toronto has been bitter-bitter cold. In fact, most of the country has experienced cold snap

People were mean for the longest time. Heads were down. Shoulders were hunched. There were frowns on everyone's faces. People pushed on sidewalks, in hallways and on buses.

Then the sun came out. The snow began to melt. Dogs were being walked. People gave up their seats on the bus. Small conversations blossomed between strangers.

People were smiling today, and I relaxed my shoulders and stopped staring at my feet.

Is overhearing the same as eavesdropping?

I was eating dinner at a restaurant this evening by myself (something that is completely normal here in Toronto, so don't feel bad for me) reading a fabulous book: The Time Traveler's Wife. They are making a movie out of it apparently, and they did most of the filming in Toronto, including Keele Station, which I go through everyday on my way to school.

I put down my book when my food came, and couldn't help but overhear the conversation at the table next to me. I couldn't help but overhear them for two reasons: 1. They were loud; 2. They were the only other people in the room. Regardless, I heard the most amazing sentence.

"Yeah, he is such a soulja boy. Really though. What a Maverick."

Does that even make any sense? I stifled a laugh at how those two very different words somehow got mashed together in describing one person. Whoever it is, I bet they are awesome.